Trust

by Riley Edwards

  “Here you go.” I smiled and dropped two to-go cups along with the check.

  “Thank you,” the woman replied.

  I looked at the name tape on her uniform, Galloway. A quick check of the man sitting across from her revealed his name was Myers. He reached for the check, but Galloway shook her head and snatched it before he could pick it up.

  “My turn. You bought last shift. And lunch the time before that.”

  “We’re keeping track now?” Myers laughed but didn’t stop her from taking the check.

  I cleared off the plates and smiled at their easy camaraderie. I missed that. I wanted that. For so long I had held myself apart from everybody who had tried to befriend me. I didn’t have to do that anymore. Mac had given me the best gift anyone ever could—freedom.

  “No. But you can’t buy three times in a row…” Galloway started when I turned my back and left the table.

  “Harper,” Mac called when I walked by the counter.

  I placed my load of dirty dishes in the bus tub and wiped my hands before I moved to his side. As soon as I did, his cologne invaded my senses. I loved the way he smelled; intense, sensual, fresh. The fragrance mixed with his natural scent brought back memories of last night. Maybe part-time wouldn’t be so bad after all. There would be no way I could keep up all-night sexcapades and still wake up for the morning shift. Now that I had a choice, I’d gladly give up the morning shift and enjoy Mac’s stamina. He’d always taken his time drawing out my pleasure, but since I’d moved in, something had changed. He was still just as attentive but there was a new urgency behind his touch. I loved it.

  Mac reached out and pulled me into him. “Gotta go to work, baby. Call me when you’re done and we’ll figure out getting you a ride home.”

  “Okay.”

  “Have a good day.” He kissed my forehead and gave me a swat on my butt.

  “You, too. Be safe.”

  “Always.”

  He picked up his coffee off the counter and with a wave over his shoulder he was gone.

  So normal.

  17

  Graham Cartwright

  Mac

  I hated leaving Harper at Del Mar’s but I had work to do and Blaze had called late last night asking me to stop by the clubhouse.

  I skirted a thin line with Iron Claw MC. Reid, too. His brother Damion was the president of the club for years. He was murdered last year and Blaze took over as president. I liked Damion and Blaze both, but our friendship was precarious at best. Blaze didn’t edge the line of the law—his club was miles away from it. But I respected Blaze; he took care of his club and family and did his best never to let his dealings bleed into Reid’s life. And never had he ever asked me for a marker or asked me to help him break the law. I appreciated that; Reid did as well.

  I pulled into the forecourt and parked. Blaze was outside with a few guys gathered around a Harley, all proudly displaying their Iron Claw colors. The men all straightened when they heard my truck door slam. Two men broke from the huddle and headed toward the clubhouse. The top rocker of their leather cuts read prospect, meaning they weren’t fully patched members; therefore, Blaze wouldn’t discuss club business in front of them.

  Fuck.

  I had a pretty good idea why Blaze had called me for a meet. The same reason I was getting ready to visit one of his members in lockup after I left here. I didn’t want to have this conversation with Blaze—at all.

  “Mac,” Blaze billowed as I approached.

  “Yo,” I returned.

  I noticed Blaze had dismissed his other men with a tilt of his chin. He waited until they were out of earshot before he continued. It wasn’t good business for the president of an outlaw one percenter motorcycle club to be talking to a cop.

  “I take it you’ve heard.” Blaze crossed his ginormous tattooed arms over his chest.

  “I have. I’ve seen the video as well,” I confirmed.

  “It’s fucking bullshit.”

  Fuck me. I really didn’t want to discuss this with Blaze.

  “Doesn’t look that way, brother. The video is clear. Riggers lit the Molotov cocktail and torched a cruiser. There is no way to deny that. The problem is Nicole Brown was last seen standing by that same police cruiser. The video cuts off as Riggers is approaching the car. Nicole Brown hasn’t been seen since.”

  The video I was referencing was cell phone footage that had been put on the internet of a vigil that had turned into an out and out riot. And Riggers was a patched member of Iron Claw. I had to admit the video was damning, and I didn’t like that Riggers, and by extension Blaze, was involved.

  “Mother fucking piece of shit. Riggers is being set up.”

  “Care to tell me how you know that?”

  Blaze’s face lit red and if I didn’t already know how the man had received his road name, I would’ve guessed it was because his eyes ignited when he was angry.

  “You sure you want me to tell you.”

  Fuck me.

  “Will it incriminate you?”

  Blaze didn’t answer. He held my eyes and told me everything I needed to know.

  I took what I had hoped was a deep cleansing breath and slowly blew it out. It wasn’t enough; the pressure that had begun behind my eyes was still pulsing, the promise of a headache was imminent.

  Between Nico and now Blaze’s involvement, nothing good was going to come from my investigation. I was so screwed.

  “Riggers is being held on assault and the attempted murder of the district attorney’s assistant. Not on kidnapping charges. As it stands, Riggers will be questioned as a witness.”

  “That Mother fucker.”

  “Who?”

  “Graham Cartwright,” Blaze spit out.

  I had known Blaze a long time. He had a bad temper and had no issue showing it off. However, Blaze was smart. A clever fucker that most underestimated because he was a biker. He also played his cards close to his vest. Blaze answering me with a name was telling.

  “The district attorney. I take it you’re not a fan.” Blaze didn’t find my comment amusing and narrowed his eyes on me. It was easy to see how he intimidated his enemies, his scowl was downright ugly. “Straight up, Blaze. You have never put me in a situation where I was uncomfortable, and I’ve never lied to you. I’d like to think we have a mutual understanding. But I’m gonna ask you this, off the record. I take what you say to the grave. If you have something on the DA, I need to know about it.”

  “I have more dirt on that Mother fucker than you have hours in the day. Most of it will fuck me and the club over if it were to come out. I wouldn’t ask you to keep that and, brother, I respect you and I trust you. But the secrets I keep aren’t mine. They’re Iron Claw’s and I hope you understand but those go with me to the grave.”

  Sweet mother of God.

  “Is Cartwright in bed with Chief Brown?”

  “Goddamned right he is,” Blazed answered, not the least bit surprised I knew the PC was dirty.

  “Fuck.”

  “Fuck is right. Cartwright is greedy. Greedy men are almost as bad as a man that’s desperate. They fuck up. They don’t think things through and make bad plays. Cartwright fucked up. He’s trying to play a game and he’s so far out of his league it’s not even funny. That dickweed is about to get burned.”

  I needed to put the brakes on Blaze disposing of Cartwright.

  “Can I ask that you hold off settling any disputes with Cartwright until after I finish my investigation?”

  Blaze threw his head back and what I think was supposed to be a laugh came out gravely and menacing.

  “Listen to you, trying to sound all official. If you’re asking me not to put that Mother fucker to ground, I’ll give you two weeks. After that, all bets are off, Mac. And I’ll repeat, I respect you, but I won’t give two fucks if your investigation is over. Cartwright fucked with my club, he fucked with a patched member, and there is retribution to be paid. And brother Cartwright will be paying.”

  Go
ddamn. Blaze all but admitted he was planning on assassinating the district attorney and I was going to look the other way.

  “’Preciate it.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “How’s the kid?”

  “Fucking perfect. Nina’s happy. So I’m happy.”

  Fatherhood looked good on Blaze. When I mentioned his son, his entire body relaxed and his face softened. Seemed the big-ass-scary biker had a soft spot after all.

  “Glad to hear it. I’m out. See ya around.”

  “Yeah, see ya.”

  On the ride out to the prison where Riggers was being held, I called Reid and filled him in on what Blaze had told me. Reid, being in the private sector, had more leeway than I did. He and Blaze also had a bond that I did not have with the man. Reid would step in and protect his brother’s club where he could.

  I checked in my weapon with the desk sergeant and was buzzed back into the inner walls of the prison and shown to an interrogation room.

  “Cameras are to be off as well as any listening devices,” I told the officer that had escorted me.

  “Standard procedure…” I cut the officer off with a gesture of my hand.

  “I don’t care what your standard procedure is. If you have an issue, call Chief Brown.”

  The officer nodded and pushed open the door.

  “He’s on his way down now.” With that, the officer left, leaving me alone in the small white room. I checked the corner, happy when there was not a blinking red light indicating the room was being watched.

  In walked Riggers, orange inmate jumpsuit, plastic slip-on shower shoes over white socks, hands cuffed in front of his large frame. When I got to his face, I had to do a double take. He’d been worked over pretty good. Black eye, bruising on his cheek, and a cut lip. He was fucked up.

  The officer shoved Riggers farther in the room and Riggers clenched his jaw as he stumbled forward, no doubt biting back the urge to knock the officer out for daring to put his hands on him. On the streets, no one would think to touch Riggers, let alone shove him like a punk.

  I sat across from Riggers and waited for the door to click shut before I spoke.

  “Who did that to your face?” I started.

  “Like you fucking care.”

  “Let me be the judge of what I care about,” I returned.

  Riggers remained silent and leaned back in his chair.

  “You know who I am?”

  This would go much easier if Riggers knew my connection to Blaze.

  “Yep,” he confirmed.

  “So you know I fucking care who did that to your face. You got issues with other inmates, not my problem. You’re a grown ass man, I assume you can handle yourself. Now, if a guard in here is jacking you around? I got issues with that.”

  “What you gonna do, officer? Put me in protective custody and cuddle me at night?”

  Goddamn, why do people have to be so fucking difficult?

  “What do you know about Nicole Brown?”

  Riggers’ eyes flared before he quickly schooled his features.

  “I know I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “So the video of you torching the police cruiser that she was standing next to is simply a coincidence?”

  “Must be.”

  “I’m gonna be honest with you here. You’re pretty much fucked. And it’s not helping your cause you sitting back trying to maintain this tough guy, I don’t give a fuck attitude. Blaze told me you were being set up. I was hoping you could shed some light as to why he thinks that.”

  That got Riggers’ attention. He sat up straight and studied me before he answered.

  “You talked to Blaze?”

  “Right before I came here.”

  “The charges are jacked. I didn’t touch that little fucker Edward. I wasn’t anywhere near him. And I didn’t touch Nicole Brown.”

  Edward was Cartwright’s right-hand man, and all-around douche bag. He was also in the hospital near dead. Edward claimed Riggers had assaulted him.

  “You got an alibi?”

  “Yep.”

  Why did I feel like I was pulling teeth from a Pit bull?

  “You care to share?”

  “Nope.”

  “Christ. Do you wanna save your ass or you gonna let these dicks railroad you? You’re facing attempted murder charges. The assault, destruction of property, and disorderly conduct are piddly shit. However, the DA wants to be a dick; he can add the charge of inciting violence with a notation of a hate crime. That will add time to your sentence.”

  “I’m not a fucking snitch,” Riggers demanded.

  “Man, I didn’t take you for one. I did, however, take you to be the type of man that wouldn’t allow someone to take you down.”

  “He’ll get his.”

  “And you’ll be sitting your ass in jail when it happens.”

  “I’m not saying shit about shit while I’m sitting in this hellhole with eyes and ears everywhere. You think they’re not listening, you’re wrong. You want answers? Listen to Blaze, I got nothing to say except to ask; you stop to think why my ass is sitting in a prison cell awaiting trial instead of central booking? Did you happen to go over my file? Why was my bail hearing in a judge’s chambers and bail revoked? You ask yourself those questions and see where those answers lead you. Now, we done? Today’s mac and cheese day; it’s the only thing that’s edible in this place. And tell Blaze I’m solid.”

  Riggers relaxed back in his chair and looked down at his outstretched legs, cutting off any further communication.

  With my palms flat on the table, I pushed myself up and leaned over the table closer to Riggers.

  “I’ll give your message to Blaze. Take care of yourself in here, Riggers.”

  He didn’t acknowledge me as I exited the room, closing the door behind me. I didn’t have Riggers’ charging folder. I wasn’t investigating the alleged assault on Graham Cartwright’s assistant. But I’d be looking into it, that was for damn sure.

  Graham Cartwright.

  He seemed to be coming up in all my conversations today.

  I waited until I was walking back to my truck and called Reid.

  “How’d it go?” he asked when he picked up.

  “About as well as any interview with a biker in an interrogation room while in lockup.”

  “That good?” Reid chuckled.

  “I got problems, brother. I’m gonna need you to expand your scope from just Brown to include Graham Cartwright. There’ll be a few judges to add to that list as well, but I haven’t pulled Jason Riggers’ sheet yet.”

  Reid let out a loud whistle. “The district attorney, too. Not surprised. Brown and Cartwright are thick as thieves. Apparently, in the literal sense. I’ll get on that today.”

  “Appreciate it. I’m also going to call in Quinn Alexander. I can’t go to any of the guys in the department. If Brown is dirty, who the fuck knows who else he’s turned. Can you get a tap in place on both their phones?”

  “Of course I can. You sure you wanna go down this path?”

  “I told you, I’m ready to capsize this mother fucker. I have no issue fucking them all. And after what I learned today, I have an ace up my sleeve.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Reid chuckled.

  “You’ll have to sit back and wait, just like everybody else.”

  18

  normal

  Harper

  It had been almost a week since I’d gone back to work. The part-time hours were perfect. Well almost. I had plenty of time after work to fiddle around the house and relax before Mac got home from work. He was a detective, which meant his hours were unpredictable and he had been called out in the middle of the night a few times, but he had tried to be home in time for us to eat dinner together. I was finding that I was a good cook. Ava had taken me shopping again and I bought new kitchen gadgets with my own money. Mac clenched his jaw, but true to his compromise he hadn’t said a word. I also went to the garden center and bought
five gallons of weed and grass killer. The flower beds around the house were hopeless. It would be easier to chemically eradicate the weed forest Mac had been growing than to pull them all out by hand. That had been done. Now I was just waiting for all the ugly green stems to shrivel up and die so I could plant all the beautiful shrubs and flowers I’d bought.

  I did break down and agree that Mac and I would split the cost of the new landscaping. It cost a fortune, leading to another discussion about who would be paying for what around the house. Any purchase over a thousand dollars would be discussed and split or deemed a household expense, which meant that it would fall in Mac’s category. I knew he was trying to be sneaky by making this new rule, but I gave in to that as well. I figured I didn’t much care so why bother arguing about it. Besides, life was too short to worry about the bullshit.

  The only part that wasn’t perfect about going back to work was the transportation issue. The guesthouse I’d lived in was within walking distance to Del Mar’s. On the rare days it had been too cold for me to walk, there was a bus stop not even a block from my house. It dropped off literally on the corner where Del Mar’s was located. Mac’s house was not within walking distance and the bus ride, which I didn’t mind taking but Mac flat out refused, was almost an hour. He said it was whacked for me to sit on a bus for nearly an hour due to all the stops the bus made when the actual drive time was twenty minutes tops.